Pampered
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: After helping Mrs Gerandy when she falls ill at the Christmas party, Esme wishes she could be sick to have the pleasure of Carlisle taking care of her.


**Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Carlisle are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Stephenie Meyer; all original characters and story © 2017 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 _Pre-Twilight Forks_

 **Esme**

Carlisle drew the brush through my hair one last time before handing it to me. "Any longer and we'll be late, love."

"I'll put it up vampire speed," I promised.

He laughed softly but moved toward the closet without offering to take the brush back.

I sighed and wound my hair around my hand, deftly pinning the twist in place. "You know, Carlisle, I'm a little surprised we're going to the staff Christmas party; I thought you would have volunteered to cover in the emergency room."

He chuckled dryly as he came out of the closet knotting his tie, the exact same shade of jewel tone red as my dress. "I tried, love. Dr Snow owes me at least two shifts that I've covered for him, and he very stubbornly decided to pay me back by letting me go to the party." He shrugged, reaching for a vest that was such a dark green it would nearly appear black to human eyes. "It wasn't worth using vampire persuasion over; eating human food won't be that bad if it means I can spend the evening in the same room as you. It should be mostly hors d'oeuvres and finger foods, anyway; we can probably get away without eating."

I laughed and moved toward my jewelry box, but Carlisle was suddenly in front of me. "Wait, Esme; I have an early Christmas present for you." He pulled a small wrapped box out of his pocket.

I quickly removed the paper and lifted the lid. Two tiny red and gold poinsettias sparkled up at me. "Oh, Carlisle," I breathed. "Rubies?"

"Of course."

I slid the earrings into my ears; Carlisle surmised that the fact that I had been wearing earrings when I was changed had kept his venom from healing the holes shut. "Well?" I asked, smiling.

"Stunning," he breathed. "You make everything you wear beautiful, love. And tonight I get to show you off."

I laughed. "Carlisle, you get jealous when a man as much as looks twice at me!"

He shrugged. "That doesn't mean I don't want them to see what a beautiful wife I have, love; I just want them to know you're _mine_." His eyes glinted in fierce possession, but I spun away from his arm.

"Don't claim me now, Carlisle. I thought you said we were going to be late?"

He captured me and pulled me against his side. "Later," he growled in my ear.

"Of course. But now let's go so you can show me off…and so everyone can see what a handsome husband _I_ have!"

 **oOo**

I really didn't see why humans considered making conversation while trying to juggle plates of food and glasses of punch to be an enjoyable way to spend an evening. And it was the principle of the thing; I was sure I would have felt the same way if my glass had contained blood instead of punch. I found myself wondering if Dr Snow had had an ulterior motive for volunteering to take emergency room duty and let Carlisle come tonight.

Carlisle quickly fell into conversation with another doctor, discussing some new surgical technique. I loved listening to Carlisle's smooth voice, with its barely-there hint of a British accent, even when I understood less than half of what he was saying. But I found myself picturing what I _could_ understand far too clearly; only doctors would consider it suitable conversation while eating, and it was making me thirsty.

So I drifted away to find another wife, or a nurse or female doctor, that I might be able to make conversation with. Several of the men seemed inclined to talk to me, but I brushed them off as politely as possible; Carlisle wouldn't want me talking to them dressed like this unless he was by my side, making it quite obvious to whom I belonged.

I small-talked my way through two conversations about the weather and one about how brave I was to be raising five teenagers; the woman in question claimed she could barely handle her two preschoolers. I found myself wondering why humans couldn't be more original in their topics of conversation. Well, if Carlisle could stand it, I could, though he honestly seemed just as engrossed as the doctor he was talking to. The trouble was that I didn't really have a common interest with any of the women here…and they were all slightly jealous of my vampire good looks.

I headed for a little room off to the side, planning to sit and design houses in my mind…fanciful houses that I would never dare ask Carlisle for, because I knew he would give them to me if I did. Or at least attempt it; I was fairly certain some of my wilder schemings were beyond the reach of modern technology.

But to my surprise, the cushioned bench on one side of the room was already occupied. Mrs Gerandy half reclined there, her head against the wall, one hand covering her eyes.

I stepped forward quickly. "Charlotte? Are you all right?"

She lowered her hand and blinked at me through half-closed eyes. "Esme… No…not really."

I rested my hand on her arm. "Do you want me to find your husband and let him know you're not feeling well?"

She smiled tightly. "I told him before we left…he thought I was faking it to get out of coming tonight."

So humans _did_ find these "parties" as silly as I did. But I frowned; I had never been sick since he changed me, of course, but I knew if I had even hinted that I wasn't feeling well, Carlisle wouldn't have brought me tonight. He would have had me in bed, with a hot water bottle or a cool cloth or whatever else he thought would help me feel better.

"Can I get you anything?"

She closed her eyes. "A cool drink…maybe that will help."

I glanced at the glass of punch I still held. "Here, take this; I haven't drunk any yet. Where do you feel bad?"

She accepted the glass and took a sip of the cool liquid. "Thank you. It's my head, and my eyes are dry…burning."

"Charlotte. Let me call Carlisle."

She said nothing, and I took it for agreement.

I glanced into the main room, catching sight of Carlisle almost immediately. I smiled slightly; I loved watching him "act human." He stood holding his glass, raising it to his lips at just the right intervals, the gesture so perfect that no human would notice he never seemed to need a refill. I could pass as human, but I often had to think about what they would do; Carlisle did it easily, effortlessly.

"Carlisle."

He met my eyes across the room, raising his glass and giving me the tiniest nod to let me know he'd heard and was coming. In moments he had excused himself from the conversation and was hurrying between the people to my side. "Esme? What's wrong, love?"

"Mrs Gerandy isn't feeling well; her husband thought she was faking it to get out of coming tonight."

Carlisle stepped to her side and rested his fingers for a moment on her forehead before pressing them lightly to her wrist. "And what seems to be the problem, Mrs Gerandy?"

"My eyes are dry and burning…my head hurts."

"Throbbing or steady?"

"Steady…just a dull ache."

"What part of your head?"

"Forehead…behind my eyes."

"Are you dizzy or lightheaded at all?"

"A bit lightheaded."

"Is there any nausea?"

"Not really."

"And your eyes; do they feel gritty at all?"

"Yes."

"All right; I'm just going to take a quick look at them, Mrs Gerandy." He pulled his penlight from his pocket; it was the one instrument he was never without, the way some doctors couldn't be parted from their stethoscopes.

When he had finished his quick evaluation he stood up, tucking the light back in his pocket. "Stay with her, Esme; I'm going to go find Gerandy."

His calm manner was still perfectly in place, but I could tell he wasn't pleased with the man by the way he left the honorific off his name.

 **oOo**

 **Carlisle**

I left the little side room and stood still for a moment, turning my head slowly as I tested the scents in the air. I caught Dr Gerandy's and strode over to him. "Gerandy!"

"Ah, Cullen; is your wife here tonight?"

"Yes," I said briefly. "And your wife needs you to take her home; she's feeling ill."

Gerandy snorted. "Is she still on about that? She didn't want to come tonight, but I told her it was my professional duty. So then she tries to get out of going by claiming a headache practically on the way out the door; don't tell me she has you fooled."

"I'm a doctor, Gerandy; it's not a matter of being 'fooled.' Her temperature and heart rate are both slightly elevated, and her eyes are noticeably red." Noticeable even to a human, I was sure.

He shook his head. "You're the one who's so sure she's sick, Cullen, _you_ take her home."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge whether he actually meant it; the idea of so casually asking another male to take one's wife home was completely foreign and slightly repugnant to me. "Are you…serious, Gerandy?"

He shrugged. "If she wants to go home that badly, fine, but I'm not taking her." He grinned slyly. "You wouldn't try anything, not with that looker you've got."

The man _had_ to have been drinking too many alcoholic beverages; there was simply no other explanation for his behavior, though for some reason it wasn't apparent in his scent.

"Fine," I said tightly. "She has keys to the house?"

"Yeah."

"All right, then; I'll see you there in an hour or so." I turned away quickly, before the urge to strike him could become too strong to resist.

"Esme, Gerandy asked us to take his wife home," I told her; "stay here while I bring the car around." I left without waiting for a response, and drew a deep breath of the cold air outside, trying to calm my righteous indignation. Sometimes I was sure I would never fully understand humans.

I pulled the car up in front of the doors, reclining the front passenger seat and leaving the heat running as I returned inside. I pulled my coat on and draped Esme's over my arm, then found Mrs Gerandy's coat and purse by scent.

"Here, Esme," I said softly, holding her coat for her as she slipped into it. I couldn't resist one quick kiss…I never could. "Help her up," I murmured softly.

Esme slipped an arm around Mrs Gerandy, helping her to her feet, and I assisted her with her coat.

"Carlisle," Esme murmured urgently, alerting me to the fact that Mrs Gerandy was leaning on her quite heavily.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs Gerandy, I think I should probably carry you." I bent and lifted her easily, though she had obviously put on some weight since her younger years. "Just close your eyes; relax. Esme, bring her purse." Her heartbeat still seemed steady, but I didn't like how near to fainting she had appeared.

Esme hurried ahead of me and opened the passenger door of the Mercedes. I laid Mrs Gerandy carefully in the seat, then shrugged out of my coat and folded it to tuck under her head. "Just rest," I told her; "we'll have you home soon."

A faint smile crossed her lips.

I hurried around the car to hold the back door for Esme, then slid into the driver's seat.

I had never been to Gerandy's house, but I had seen his address on various forms and paperwork; there was no need to ask Mrs Gerandy for directions.

I pulled into the driveway, parking to the side to allow room for Gerandy to come home later. Esme was looking through Mrs Gerandy's purse for her keys as I went to lift the woman out of the car, and had the door unlocked and open for me by the time I got to it.

I found the bedroom easily, going partly by instinct and partly by scent, and sat Mrs Gerandy gently on the edge of the bed. "Esme, love, help her into her nightclothes. Call when you're finished or if you need me; I'll be downstairs."

I idly scanned the shelves in the living room as I waited. Half of them held paperback romances; the other half thick political mysteries. I surmised it indicated the difference between Gerandy's taste in reading matter and his wife's, and winced slightly at her choice. Was she old enough — close to sixty, I imagined — not to fantasize about me?

"Carlisle."

I looked up to see Esme standing on the top step, and flashed up to join her.

"She's ready for you," she said as I appeared at her side.

"Ah. Thank you, love." I brought in a glass of water and set it on the bedside stand beside my bag, which Esme had brought in from the car for me. There was a straight-backed wooden chair in the room, and I pulled it beside the bed and sat down. Esme had washed the cosmetics from Mrs Gerandy's face, leaving her softly wrinkled skin washed out and pale.

"Are you feeling better, worse, or about the same?" I asked her softly.

"I think the same…but I'm so much more comfortable now that I feel better."

I smiled. "Mmm…I'm sure." I checked her temperature again, then skimmed my hand lightly along her throat, checking for swelling. My examination earlier had been incomplete; I had merely wanted enough information to convince Gerandy she was actually sick, and to ascertain whether she should be taken home or to the emergency room. I made a more thorough job of it now, looking in her throat and ears as well as the insides of her eyelids and finding nothing seriously wrong.

I took out two pills and reached for the glass of water. "Here, swallow these," I told her gently, slipping an arm around her shoulders to support her. "Esme, love, could you get a cool cloth?"

Esme disappeared, and I laid Mrs Gerandy back down. "I'm going to put some drops in your eyes," I told her, taking the bottle from my bag. "This should help with the dryness and burning." I carefully held her eye open with the fingers of one hand as I squeezed three drops of the clear fluid into her eye. "Now blink."

I repeated the process on the other eye, then moved aside to make way for Esme as she entered the room with a cool, damp washcloth. She smoothed it over Mrs Gerandy's eyes and forehead, then fluffed up the pillow and made sure the blankets were pulled all the way up, murmuring softly the whole time.

I smiled slightly; if she was ever sufficiently inured to the blood scent, my Esme would make an amazing nurse.

I put my supplies away and closed my bag, turning to find Esme sitting sideways in the chair I had vacated. Standing behind her, I began rubbing her shoulders. She gave a sigh of satisfaction that was almost a purr and reached her hand back to rest on my forearm, leaning her head against my chest. "Mm, Carlisle," she breathed.

We stayed there for some time, not moving except for my fingers kneading Esme's shoulders. Mrs Gerandy's breathing had long since slowed and deepened into the pattern of sleep.

At the sound of a car pulling into the driveway below, I grabbed Esme's hand and pulled her smoothly to her feet. "Come on, love," I murmured.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Mrs Gerandy…"

"Is fine," I assured her. "She's not nearly sick enough to need constant monitoring." I took my bag and turned out the light on the way out of the room.

By the time Gerandy came in the front door, I was sitting on the sofa with Esme curled into my side. I got to my feet as he entered the room, pulling her with me. "Gerandy."

"How is she?" I detected or imagined a faint trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Sleeping," I said almost shortly. "It doesn't seem to be anything serious, but you should probably keep an eye on her tomorrow. I gave her over-the-counter analgesic for the pain and fever, and some drops for her dry eyes. What concerns me most is how lightheaded she was when she stood…if she has to get up at all in the night, you should accompany her."

Gerandy looked at me as if believing for the first time that his wife was actually ill and not just faking. "Thanks for taking her home, Cullen; I owe you one."

I felt my eyes flash, and Esme squeezed my hand warningly. "It's a debt you'll never be able to repay, Gerandy," I said coldly. "If my Esme wasn't feeling well, I wouldn't be asking another man to take her home. Come on, love."

 **oOo**

 **Esme**

Carlisle held my coat for me and ushered me out the door with a hand on my back and no more than a barely polite nod of farewell to Dr Gerandy.

"They say doctors' wives die young," he muttered as he held the car door for me. "I think I see why…"

"Don't you think he'd have paid attention if she had been _that_ sick? You said yourself it wasn't serious. And isn't a headache what women _do_ fake to get out of going places?"

"Sometimes," he admitted, pulling out of the driveway. "I suppose if she's done it in the past, he'd be less likely to believe her. I may ask you to stop by and check on her tomorrow, love."

"Of course," I agreed instantly. I smiled and then sighed a little.

"Esme?"

I laughed, half embarrassed. "Oh, nothing…I was just wishing I _could_ get sick."

Carlisle stared at me as if he thought maybe I was. "Esme…are you crazy?" His hand twitched on the steering wheel, then moved almost of its own volition, brushing across my forehead as if checking for a fever.

I laughed and caught his hand in mine. "Of course not. I was just thinking of the way you'd pamper me if I was sick…I want that."

The closest we had ever come was when I had eaten human food, and he crouched over me as I knelt in front of the toilet to get rid of it. He never let me return the favor; I had never even seen him get rid of human food. He insisted that it was easy and didn't bother him, and I wasn't sure if he was just playing the strong man or really did find it easier.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can't make you sick, love — and I wouldn't if I could. But if you'll tell me your 'symptoms,' I'll pamper you all you like."

"Really, Carlisle?"

"And when have I ever refused thee, love?"

I pouted. "You just said you wouldn't make me sick if you could."

"I refuse you nothing within reason," he corrected. "Wishing to be sick, Esme, is beyond all sense."

I thought for an instant of my fantasy house; would he consider that to be in reason, I wondered?

Not that I actually _wanted_ that house; I just liked playing with ideas for it.

I smiled to myself as he came to help me out of the car. As I stood, I pressed my hand suddenly to my chest. "Carlisle…"

"Esme? What's wrong, love?"

For an instant I thought the worry in his voice was real; I was ready to reassure him when I caught the glint of his eye.

"My heart…it's racing…pounding out of my chest.

He smiled indulgently. "Esme, love, it's physiologically impossible for your heart to be racing and pounding at the same time."

I scowled. "Well, if you're going to be that picky, it's physiologically impossible for my heart to beat at all."

He laughed softly. "All right, love. If your heart's acting up that badly, I suppose you must be lightheaded?"

"Terribly," I murmured, stumbling and falling against him.

He swept me up into his arms. "Let's get you up to bed. Lay your head on my shoulder and close your eyes."

I obeyed, imagining for a moment that I really _was_ slightly lightheaded as I tried unsuccessfully to remember from my human days what it had felt like to be sick.

He laid me against the pillows on the bed and carefully removed my earrings, returning them to their box. Then he helped me out of my dress and into a nightgown that was longer and less revealing than the ones I usually wore for him; Alice must have left it. I hoped she didn't think I was being too silly with this playacting…

Carlisle removed my hairpins, not recklessly like he usually did, losing half of them to all corners of the room, but with calm slowness. He gently ran his fingers through my hair, pulling it from its twist to lay over my shoulders.

He brushed a hand over my forehead and frowned. "Burning up. Where does it hurt, love?" he asked, pulling the covers up around me.

"All over," I murmured. "Everything aches."

He sat beside me on the edge of the bed and proceeded to question me about symptoms for the next half hour. I was sure he was making up some of the more exotic-sounding ones; I could tell by the glint in his eye and the light teasing in his voice that he wasn't taking this game very seriously.

Only once, when I had confessed to being "slightly nauseated," did he turn serious for a moment. "Esme, love…honestly, now. Did you eat any human food at the party that you need to bring up?"

"No," I assured him.

Once, when I was still fairly young, I had eaten human food when I was on my own. It had lain heavy in my stomach, but I had assumed my body would eventually absorb it somehow. After a full day, Edward had quietly told Carlisle that I had eaten human food and hadn't gotten rid of it.

Carlisle had explained to me then that getting rid of it wasn't a matter of easing the discomfort, as I had thought, but an actual necessity, except for small amounts of water or other liquids.

I always told him now if I had food I needed to get rid of, but it was less embarrassing if he was the one to bring the topic up.

Finally Carlisle finished questioning me and shook his head. "You've answered yes to almost everything, love; if you really came in presenting all those symptoms, I'd have to diagnose you with four or five different illnesses just to cover them all. And if I treated you for all of them, you'd think I was torturing you, not pampering you."

"Carlisle, play right," I pouted.

"Of course, with all those symptoms, you'd really be too miserable to care much either way," he continued mercilessly.

"Carlisle! You promised you'd pamper me."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're supposed to be mildly ill, love, not dying of every disease known to man. Let's start over, shall we? You're feeling achy and lightheaded…" He pressed his hand to my face. "You're burning up, love; we have to get you cooled down."

He disappeared from the bed, and as I waited for him to return with a cool cloth I wondered why he had bothered asking me about all those symptoms if he was just going to end up telling me how I felt himself.

The cool cloth I was waiting for never came. Instead, I felt the bed shift as Carlisle slipped into the other side. Opening my eyes, I saw that he had removed his shirt…and I really doubted he was wearing dress pants to bed. "What are you _doing_ , Carlisle?"

He grinned devilishly. "Cooling you off, love," he replied, laying his bare chest against me. He wrapped his arm over my chest so that his hand lay against my neck.

"This isn't how you'd pamper me if I was sick, Carlisle," I protested halfheartedly; I couldn't be really annoyed with him with his fingers softly tickling the skin of my neck.

He pushed himself up on his arm to smirk down at me. "Maybe not. Admit it, love; you like this better."

It was then that I realized what a silly I had been. Carlisle already pampered me shamelessly; I didn't need the worry or discomfort of being sick.

And then all thoughts fled as his lips came down on mine. Yes, he was right; I liked this _much_ better.

The End

 **A/N: I** **really have to look up two incompatible abnormal heart rates; I'm not sure the ones I picked are. Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


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